


Now I will step forward.

by oathkeptroxas



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Based on a Video Game Scene, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Love, Melancholy, Memories, Moving On, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:16:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkeptroxas/pseuds/oathkeptroxas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn’t know him. How dare they say his name and speak of loss as if they understood?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I will step forward.

**Author's Note:**

> For anybody who hasn't played the Kingdom Hearts games, for the sake of context: Kairi loses all memory of Sora, as her memories slowly return his name is the last thing she remembers. During the slow-going remembering process she writes a letter to 'the boy I can't remember' and sends it as a message in a bottle. Sora finds it and reads it, and it opens the door to light so that he can get back to her.
> 
> I contemplated different ways to approach this idea, because it just fit so well for Laurel/Oliver to me, but ultimately I always came across a hurdle. So, for the sake of coherence, this is canon divergent in which Oliver never cheated on Laurel (at least not with Sara), because I couldn't justify Laurel writing to Oliver and not Sara. The Laurel/Oliver/Sara thing was stupid as fuck to begin with anyway. As a result of this change, Laurel had no anger at Oliver and mourned him in a more similar way to how she mourned Tommy, I guess. And I've left this kinda open ended for the sake of realism.

" _Thinking of you, wherever you are._

_We pray for our sorrows to end, and hope that our hearts will blend._

_Now I will step forward to realize this wish._

_And who knows:_

_starting a new journey may not be so hard,_

_or maybe it has already begun._

_There are many worlds, but they share the same sky —_

_one sky, one destiny._ "

**Kairi’s Letter | Kingdom Hearts II**

* * *

 

Moira came, the bearer of bad news, and before her lips had parted to speak the words, Laurel knew. Mrs Queen’s fingers shook, clutching at the seams of her freshly pressed pant suit over her trembling knees. Her mouth opened and her eyes fell closed and her breath hitched on the beginnings of a sob. And Laurel’s hand flew to cover her face, her tongue just barely holding off the plead of ‘Please don’t say it’, that almost spewed forth.

 

Moira’s eyes were red-rimmed and heavy-lidded and she looked so worn down and defeated. Her bottom lip trembled and her head shook as she offered her apologies. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Laurel marveled at the absurdity of Mrs Queen saying sorry, and extending comfort when she’d lost her husband and her child all at once. Moira was a valiant pillar of strength, a graceful but calculating woman, and she sat on the lumpy, old couch of the Lance family home, and she looked small and sunken.

 

With a shaky but deep breath in, Moira stood to leave. She placed a steady hand on Laurel’s shoulder and in a whisper soft tone she said “He loved you, Laurel. Everything always came back to you.”

 

With a wounded sob and the inevitable spill of desolate tears, Laurel choked out, “I know.” The lump in her throat threatened to suffocate her, her fingers snagged and tugged in her hair and the tears just kept falling. She hunched forward, her shoulders quaked with her hiccuping breaths and her heartbroken wails. This wasn’t happening.

 

Losing the love of her life was an abstract concept, even in the face of it happening. No matter how painful it was, resonating in the valley of her ribs, her chest constricted and made it hard to breathe. Yet, she couldn’t accept it, couldn’t conceive of a world in which she had to carry on without him. It wasn’t fair. Things like this didn’t happen.

 

It wasn’t until a few days later, when it finally made headlines, that it finally sunk in. The TV blared and she heard his name. There was a photograph of his smiling face and she felt her stomach roll, she let go of the glass in hand and it shattered to a thousand crystalline shards on the counter. She collapsed knees first, collided hard and merciless to the tiled kitchen floor. Agonized cries and mournful yells echoed through the house, the TV blared on. She couldn’t rid herself of the image of him.

 

In a fit of heartbroken anger she wrenched the TV free of its bracket and sent it flying. They didn’t know him. How dare they say his name and speak of loss as if they understood. This wasn’t a story, this wasn’t their next paycheck. She felt like dying. That’s how her father found her some time later, cowered on the kitchen floor among the scattered glass debris and the remnants of the TV. Her face was blotchy and stinging from tears, her eyes sore and unseeing. She didn’t know if she’d ever stop shaking.

 

The memorial was the worst, twin headstones of marble and granite were set at the corner of the Queen estate. Laurel stood unseeing at the etch of his name in stone, and little Thea - cheeks red from crying and dotted with freckles, hair tied in pigtails - rushed into Laurel’s arms and held tight. Laurel made eye contact with Tommy briefly over the grave and exchanged watery smiles, they both looked away in silence. Things were too raw, to new, and the grief they were feeling would be worsened if they shared it right now. It was always the three of them, growing up inseparably. Confronting the fact the three was down to two was too much. They needed to sort things for themselves before they came back together.

 

No matter how she tried to move forward, she couldn’t escape the hollow inside her. An abyss where her heart had been that ached as she went through the motions of her life. People tried to console her, reason with her. But she could see the pity in their eyes, the concern and the desperate desire to get through. She was lashing out at every turn, becoming self-destructive in the aftermath of her loss.

 

One hit came after another, when she came home to find her mother’s side of the closet bare and her father with his head in his hands. It’d been a long time coming, her father’s alcohol dependency taking its toll on the marriage. But Laurel had never imagined her own mother would up and leave, it seemed so out of the blue, and she felt guilt gnaw at her, that this had been happening within her own family and she’d been so consumed with her own feelings that she’d neglected to see it coming. Sara, now preparing to start college, had left with their mother to Central City, taking the next steps in her life. And Laurel resented them, though it was illogical and unfounded, she resented that they were able to pick up and move on and be okay, when she couldn’t. It was a struggle to even get out of bed some mornings.

 

With a haggard sigh she sat opposite her father, her trembling hand reached out, and her quaking fingertips wrapped around the neck of the bottle. She tipped it back and the burn in the back of her throat helped fend off the lump that seemed to always be trapped there. Quentin gazed at his daughter, who had always been the most put together of them, their eyes met across the table, itching with the salt of dried tears. He poured twin glasses of amber liquid. The world kept turning regardless.

 

In the weeks that followed Laurel drowned the torrent of her grief in any alcohol she could find. One drink after another to take the edge off, just enough so it didn’t cripple her with hurt just to think his name. She’d lost her job, she’d lost friends, she’d lost her pride, and she knew logically that it wasn’t really helping, that she was just adding to the weight on her shoulders. If she kept running from and blocking out her feelings and problems, she might never find her way back. In some way, she knew that. She’d stop when she was ready. She would.

 

One night she sat alone, swilling the dregs of a gin and tonic, the other patrons of the bar were trickling out one by one. She drained the glass and placed in down, indicated for the barmen to fetch her another. She’d lost count of how many she’d downed in this single sitting, it didn’t matter anyway. Another drink was set down just as the stool beside hers scraped back. Laurel looked around prepared to give a harsh dismissal, but she was unprepared to find Tommy sitting beside her.

 

“Tommy Merlyn,” She drew out his name in a slur, surprised to be in his presence this way for the first time since they’d lost Oliver.

 

“Laurel, this has to stop. You’re better than this.” He ventured.

 

“Oh, am I?” She griped, her eyebrows rising as she gazed at him, “Funny that I’m getting a lecture from a renowned party boy.”

 

“You’re right. But, I do the things I do for pleasure and out of habit. I’m not hiding. I’m not destroying myself.” He huffed out a sigh, “Besides, you were always better. Better than me, better than Ollie…”

 

“ _Don’t,_ ” she stressed, her eyes misted over and she gripped tight to the stem of her glass.

 

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Try to help you? Oliver wouldn’t have-”

 

“Don’t try and tell me what Ollie would’ve wanted.” She hissed, her lips curled back in distain, “You might not approve, but believe it or not I’m doing the best that I can.”

 

“Are you?” He asked gently, his expression concerned and fond.

 

She deflated all of a sudden, her eyes tracing the spillage on the bar top. She blinked against the sting of coming tears and raised the glass to her lips. She drained the drink in one large swig and her clenched fists rested, shaking on the counter. Wordlessly, Tommy reached a hand to lay over hers, “I miss him too, and not just Ollie...Robert...Robert was like a father to me.”

 

She whimpered, and fell forward to rest against the temple of his bowed head. Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin and the pungent smell of booze was breathed between them. They each thought back through a lifetime of memories, growing up together, the good and the bad. The reality was that neither Tommy or Laurel could remember a time when Oliver wasn’t with them, and it felt wrong to be together now without him close by. “I feel like I’m dying, Tommy.”

 

“It’ll get better,” he murmured, close and safe.

 

“How?”

 

“It has to.”

 

The tip of her nose skimmed his cheek as she pulled up and back. They separated just enough to look each other in the eye. She gave a watery smile as he reached a hand up to brush her hair away. Her eyes closed and without thought, but seeking comfort, with lowered inhibitions she leaned in. Their lips brushed for a second, and it wasn’t until he too sank into it that she came back to herself.

 

She jerked back, eyes wide and spilling tears, her lips tingled and her insides curdled in shame. She shook her head in horrified disbelief. “No,” she breathed out.

 

“Laurel, it’s okay,” He tried to placate her. He knew it didn’t mean anything, knew it was the loneliness taking its toll.

 

Her eyes narrowed and her breaths came faster. “No, it’s not! This…. I don’t….we can’t…” She choked, her thoughts flustered and disoriented from both the alcohol and her regret. “Just stay away from me, Tommy!”

 

She grabbed her coat and purse and spun for the door, yanking her wrist free when he grabbed to stop her. She’d fucked up. That wasn’t what she’d wanted. Now she’d alienated Tommy. Perhaps she was a curse, a burden that made everyone want to get away rather than stay with her. Maybe she was destined to destroy everything she touched in the wake of her mournful warpath. There was no coming back from this.

 

She found her father sat in the kitchen when she got home, his elbows resting on the counter, his head hung heavy in his hands. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and as she walked forward she could see the photographs he had laid out before him, pictures of her childhood, when their family was unbroken. There was even a photo of her, Oliver and Tommy, at her graduation, her gown billowing down to the ground. Oliver’s arm was wrapped tight around her shoulders and Tommy was throwing up the bunny ears behind her head. They were smiling bright and wide and open. She remembered her dad had been so proud that he’d cried. Laurel’s chest pinched tight with the memory.

 

Quentin traced a fingertip over one particular photo, his daughters laughing on the living room floor, their legs entwined and Sara was proudly holding up her newly acquired stuffed shark - courtesy of Starling City aquarium - for her father’s perusal. Dinah was sat on the couch behind them, unbridled affection shining in her eyes. Quentin took a laboured breath. “I can’t believe it’s been months...I keep expecting them to come back.” He breathed.

 

Laurel halted for a second. Her thoughts were stuck on ‘ _months_ ’, the word was repeating in her mind. She hadn’t realized so much time had passed, her days had been bleeding together and her life was slipping through her fingers, consumed with the thoughts of all she’d lost. Laurel glanced down at the photo of her mother and sister, and she realized how much she missed them, how much bitter resentment she held in the face of their abandonment, even if she knew that wasn’t what happened at all. Her eyes flitted back to the graduation photo, and she was struck with the revelation that it had been nearly a full year since the news of Oliver’s disappearance had come through. Ollie had been so happy for her that day, he’d tugged the tassel on her cap playfully and kissed her temple and been so proud of the future she’d carved for herself. Tommy was right. Oliver wouldn’t have wanted her to squander her opportunities. She wasn’t honouring him by destroying herself.

 

She almost scoffed. She never thought the day would come where she’d be taking advice from Tommy Merlyn.

 

The next morning she woke up early, dry swallowing painkillers to ease the ache in her skull. She jumped into the shower and let the grime and sadness of the previous day get washed away. She felt refreshed, like the conscious decision to move forward was enough for her to shirk some of the emotional weight that dragged her down. She threw herself into work and attended AA meetings every other day.

 

Her hands were wringing together between her trembling knees. The plastic of the stow-away chair was cold and hard against her tailbone, and it was her turn to speak. With an image of Oliver firmly in mind, she found the strength to stand and step forward.

 

My name is Laurel Lance, and I’m an alcoholic.

My name is Laurel Lance, and my boyfriend died.

My name is Laurel Lance, and my mom walked out.

My name is Laurel Lance, and my dad’s an alcoholic, too.

 

Slowly but steadily, things got better. She got out of bed in the mornings and she could breathe without the weight of the coming day pressing upon her and ready to suffocate. She came to terms with the fact that moving on was not the same thing as forgetting. She was comforted with the knowledge that in his last moments, he’d loved her. The last words she’d spoken to him had been with love, as she handed him the photograph to keep with him. In the early days after his passing she’d felt guilty that she hadn’t gone with him, but she had too much work to do and thought that Oliver deserved some quality time with his father. Her intentions had been pure, Oliver would have known that.

 

It was approaching the one year mark, the days counting down one by one. And Laurel wrapped her hands around her father’s bicep and tugged him up and out with her. She’d pleaded with him, soft green eyes imploring him to give in. And with swallowed pride he’d nodded and whispered, “Anything for my baby girl.”

 

My name is Quentin Lance, and I’m an alcoholic.

 

Laurel was picking up the pieces of her shattered life. She was doing it for her father. She was doing it for Oliver’s memory. She was doing it for herself and who she could still be. She wanted to be there for Thea. She wanted to go have coffee with Moira and reminisce and have the memories not be so painful. She wanted so many things and she was the only person in her way.

 

On the one year anniversary of The Queen’s Gambit going down, Laurel went back to the pier where they’d said their last goodbye. With a sigh she took the bottle from her bag, the very last sign of alcohol in her house, and wordlessly, methodically she tipped it out into the bay. She retrieved a folded piece of paper from her pocket and rolled it, before slipping it into the glass bottle and securing the lid. Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment and she breathed in the sea air as the breeze washed over her. As gently as she could, she dropped the bottle into the waves.

 

_Ollie,_

_I know there is no way for this message to reach you,_

_But I just need to feel like I’ve told you somehow._

_I love you, always._

_And letting go is not the same as giving up, is not the same as forgetting._

_I can’t forget. I won’t._

_But I need to believe that I can be happy again someday._

_I choose to believe I can find that._

_I trust that you would’ve wanted that for me._

_You always said that I was better than you, that I was meant for more._

_I never thought for a second that I would be more without you,_

_But this ache inside me is not the way I want to live my life forever._

_I’m sorry._

_I love you, always._  

__\- Laurel._ _

She stared with misty eyes of longing, out to the horizon of choppy waves on dark waters. The fading light of day glinted off the edge of the bottle as she watched it move outwards and away.

 

Somewhere lost within the North China sea, he stared straight back. With misty eyes of longing, searching the horizon of choppy waves of dark waters, the pad of his thumb rubbed reverent circles over the image of her face.

**Author's Note:**

> #NoLaurelNoArrow


End file.
